


undeniable intricacies

by memorysdaughter



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Childhood, Friendship, Healing, Illness, Sarenrae, Winter's Crest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 19:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6484672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorysdaughter/pseuds/memorysdaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten vignettes over the lifespan of Grog and Pike's friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

i.

_light_

There’s light, and it’s curious.  Grog’s heard all of the cockamamie stories about the realms after death.  Mostly the Nine Hels, but he thinks if he was there the light would be red.  And _this_ light is gold.

Lovely beautiful gold.  Bright gold.  It’s almost… _playful_.

Grog blinks.  Colors swim around him; he spies movement at the corner of his eye and the beautiful golden light disappears.  He brings his hand up, trying to catch the last fragments of it.

“Oh!” a soft voice says, a little startled. “I’m sorry.”

Grog opens his eyes further.  His eyes are blurry, but he catches sight of a tiny person scurrying to his side.  There’s a low scraping sound and then a gnome head pops up from beside the bed. “Hello,” she says gently. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Are you… were you…?” Grog’s confused. “The light?”

The gnome’s little face breaks into a sunny smile, and it’s better than a spoken answer.  _Of course she’s the light_, Grog realizes.  He doesn’t know _who_ she is, but her entire form seems to radiate the soft golden glow he saw upon waking.

She just nods and leans forward, her hands brushing over his forehead.  Instantly he feels calmer, lighter, freer.

“Yer magic,” he grunts.  Goliaths don’t hold much stock in magic, at least not in his herd.

 _But your herd didn’t hold much stock in you either_ , a small voice in his head reminds him.  _Look where that got you_.

“You’re safe here,” the gnome says softly. “I promise.”

Something in her voice brings back memories of his last fight with the herd.  Of that small creature they’d demanded he kill.  Of how he couldn’t do it.  Of his herd turning on that small creature, then on him. “He ain’t dead, is he?”

He realizes he doesn’t even know its name.

“No,” she answers. “No, he’s not.  You saved him.”

She puts her hand in his. “And I’m very grateful to you for rescuing him.  You have done my family a great service.”

“Mmm,” Grog mumbles.  Her face is getting blurry.

“But you were hurt badly,” the gnome goes on. “So rest.  And I’ll explain everything later.”

“Mm’kay,” Grog mutters, and he closes his eyes.

In the seconds before the haze of sleep steals over him, he sees that golden light again, surrounding his body, and he feels so… _safe_.

It’s a new feeling.

It’s weird how much he likes it.

 

* * *

 

ii.

_heat_

There’s heat.  Grog can feel it radiating up from Pike’s body.  She lays curled on her bed, eyes glassy and distant.

She’s never been sick like this.  Never.  She’s always the one doing the healing, and to see her so completely still and silent and weak and… and just _wrong_ makes Grog’s head feel funny.

There’s a bucket of water near Pike’s bed, and Grog’s supposed to get her to drink from it.  But she’s stubborn, even sick, and most of it just dribbles right out onto her tunic.

“Wilhand’s not gonna like this,” Grog grumbles the fifth time Pike refuses a drink, pushing the little tin cup away.  He’s always afraid of upsetting the gnomes who took him in, worried that they’d turn on him for a little mistake and kick him back out into the world alone and unarmed.

Pike coughs, a deep, low, wet sound, and tucks her knees to her chest.

“Yeah, I _know_ he went off t’ find some big healin’ cleric guy,” Grog mutters as if Pike had spoken. “Still doesn’t mean he won’t be furious ‘bout you not drinkin’ this water.”

He brushes a fond hand over her white hair and watches as she winces, trying to get away from the pressure. “Sorry, sorry.”

Grog sighs.  He can’t do anything to fix this.

He stands and walks to the door.  No sign of Wilhand, and the afternoon’s lasting an awful long time.  He doesn’t want Pike to be sick anymore.

On his way back to her bedside he stumbles over the water bucket, kicking it across the room.  It sloshes its contents onto the floor and Grog groans.

Then he stops, looking at the overturned bucket and the wet floor.  Hurriedly he looks around the room, finally spotting the copper wash basin in the corner.  Grog snatches it up and bolts out the door.  At the well he fills it full of clear, cold water, then carries it back into the house.

“Right, Pike, yer goin’ fer a swim,” Grog says with all the courage he can muster, and he scoops her out of bed by the back of her sweat-soaked tunic.

He’s not expecting the sudden flash of heat against his palms, or the way the sudden movement seems to bring her fully awake.

“No!” she protests, and tries to kick him in the stomach.

“Should’a drank that water,” Grog informs her, and he carries her boiling body to the wash basin, plunking her down into it.

“Grog!  _No!”_ Pike whines.

“Yer sick and hot.  Water’s cold,” Grog says practically.  He keeps his hand on her shoulder, gently, just enough so she can’t get out of the tub.

“I hate you!”

“No y’ don’t.”

Pike bursts into tears.

“Aw, hell,” Grog mutters.  He can’t stand it when Pike cries, because he always feels like crying too. “No, don’t cry.  I said _don’t cry!”_

Pike makes a spluttering sound into the water.

“I just want you t’ feel better!” Grog wrings his hands.  Wilhand’s definitely going to throw him out for this one.

Pike waves her tiny hands around miserably, flinging droplets of water onto Grog’s bare chest.

“That’s it.” Grog stands up and grabs the mostly-empty bucket from the corner.  He scoops up water from the basin and upends it over his head.

Pike sniffles and stares up at him, now dripping wet. “Why’d… why’d you _do_ that?”

“We’re havin’ a swim together,” Grog answers. “Your turn.”

Her fever-wracked body is too weak to hold the bucket on her own, so Grog helps, filling the pail halfway and bringing it up over her head.  Cold water rushes down her back and she comes up blinking, pushing sopping hair away from her face.

“Your turn,” she says, her voice still weak but with some of the fervor of non-fevered Pike creeping back in.

Grog obliges.

He loses count of how many times he raises and lowers the pail for them both – it’s definitely more than six – but at last Wilhand returns with the healer; the older men discover a drenched goliath and a sodden gnome with a much lower fever.

That night as Pike sleeps, Wilhand approaches Grog. “Thank you for what you did today.”

Grog looks at him confusedly.

“You helped her to get better,” Wilhand clarifies. “She trusts you.”

“I just… dumped water everywhere,” Grog says.  Some part of him is uncomfortable with the compliment.

Wilhand nods. “You care for her, and that is important to me.  Thank you, Grog.”

“Yer welcome,” Grog mumbles.  When Wilhand moves away to speak to the healer, Grog moves towards Pike’s bed.  She’s curled up, looking impossibly small, but her features are peaceful rather than pinched with pain.  Grog likes that.

He brushes hair away from her face, then lies down on the floor, stretching out on his bedroll, recently moved from his usual quarters to its new spot near Pike. “G’night, little buddy,” he says.

She yawns and murmurs, “Night, Grog.”

 

* * *

 

iii.

_sorrow_

There’s sorrow, but only as brief pauses between the wonders they experience together.

Once Grog comes upon Pike sitting cross-legged at the riverside watching a group of other gnome girls play with their dolls, and somehow he dredges up the thought that he’s never seen Pike play with gnomish children.  Ever.  They don’t share toys, they don’t go rough-and-tumble in the grassy meadows, they don’t even converse when they’re out in the village together.  She’s always with him.

“Pike,” he says, flopping down to the ground near her, “how come you don’t ever play with them?”

Pike’s fingers trail through a patch of broken and torn flower stems.  Little golden wisps of light radiate from her hands and everywhere she moves flowers push up from those stems, faces turning up to meet the sun.

“Y’ _could_ , y’ know,” Grog offers. “I can go… y’ know, carry stuff.  For Wilhand.  He likes it.”

“It’s okay,” Pike says quietly.  She twists her fingers, letting the golden light spill over into the flowers, coaxing them up from the ground.

“Did they do somethin’ mean t’ you?”

“No, it’s not that.” Pike keeps her attention on the flowers.

“D’ y’ want _me_ t’ do somethin’ mean t’ _them?”_

At that Pike looks up, a smile on her face, and Grog feels like the sun’s just come out. “No, Grog.  Just stay here, okay?  I’ll make you another flower crown.”

It isn’t until much, _much_ later, many years down the road, that Grog realizes why those little gnome girls never wanted to play with Pike – two reasons why, actually.  He was one of them; most gnomes didn’t have a strange goliath bumbling along behind them everywhere they went.  The other was Pike’s deep connection to Sarenrae, evident even at such a young and fragile age.

_They were scared of us for the same reason – they were scared of what we could do._

Grog remembers this at the most inconvenient times, like when Pike shows up glowing and radiant in Whitestone and leaps into the sea of undead.  He likes how proud it makes him feel.

_They were right to be scared of us._

Pike doesn’t see sorrow in Grog very often.  He’s physically hard to read, sure, but over time they grow so close that she’s able to sense his emotions nearly as well as she knows her own.  Sorrow is rare.

She does see it – one time most memorably at the end of a summer.  The entire village comes together to search for a missing toddler, eventually finding the little boy hungry and dirty and tired in a cave that had partially collapsed after a storm.  He’s uninjured except for a few scrapes and bumps, and the pure adoration on his parents’ faces when he’s passed back to their arms fills Pike with a warm feeling throughout her entire body.  Grog stays just long enough to make sure the boy reaches his mother before he bolts away from the village square.

She finds Grog holding lengths of thread for Wilhand as the elderly gnome winds the hanks onto spools to be saved for stitching up wounds.  It’s a perfect time to talk – Grog can’t move without upsetting Wilhand, and Pike knows Grog will do almost anything to keep from upsetting Wilhand.

Pike takes over for Wilhand, jumping up onto a small stool so she can continue winding the thread.  She watches Grog out of the corner of her eye, hoping he’ll speak first.

He doesn’t.

“Grog,” Pike says tentatively after filling two or three spools, “I wonder if you’re sad because we all went to look for Weryn and no one’s ever out looking for you.”

“Don’t need t’ look for me,” Grog mutters. “’M always here.”

Pike nods. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.  I didn’t mean gnomes, exactly.”

Grog bites his lip and seems to be concentrating very hard on holding the loops of thread steady.

“Does it make you sad that your herd never comes to look for you?”

Grog shakes his head. “They made it pretty clear how they felt ‘bout me.  Don’t want them lookin’ for me.”

“All right,” Pike says, and she goes back to wrapping the thread around the spool.

“Don’t you go missin’ either,” Grog grunts at her. “Nobody’s got time t’ go lookin’ for you.”

Pike just smiles at him and stands on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m not missing, Grog.  I’ll be right here.”

She realizes later, hearing the story from Scanlan about how Grog refused to go back and face his uncle without her, that what Grog really meant was _If I’m missing, the only one I want looking for me is you, and if you’re missing, I’ll go over heavens and hels to find you, no matter what._

 

* * *

 

iv.

_laughter_

Things that make Grog laugh:

Women (certain women).  Ale (specifically in large quantities).  Most things Scanlan does.  Folks with weirder accents than him.  Pranks (especially those played on Vax).  Men going about in women’s clothing.  That time he tried to put lipstick on a duck.  Pike – how tiny she is compared to how unbelievably strong she is, how she’s just the right person to tell about everything he’s thinking and all the stuff he’s done, how absolutely ridiculous she looked that one time when he accidentally knocked a bowl of whipped cream off the table and it landed on her head like some kind of fluffy dessert hat.

 

Things that make Pike laugh:

Trinket wearing bows.  Scanlan’s songs and the way he keeps trying to make her fall in love with him.  Pranks.  Jokes.  That time Grog tried to put lipstick on a duck (and nearly succeeded!).  Grog – his enthusiasm, his zest for almost everything, the way he can be a hammer-swinging full-on destruction machine one moment and then suddenly get excited about pushing over an enemy encased in ice.

 

He laughs because the world is so bizarre and upside down and ruthless and bright.

She laughs because she sees the good in the world and in most everyone in it and things walk a delicate balance between light and dark and she’s constantly amazed by her place amongst people who are strong and devoted and caring and _funny_.

They laugh because they’re friends…

… and because there’s absolutely nothing the other can do about it.

 

* * *

 

v.

_redemption_

Grog’s the first to admit he knows fuck-all about Sarenrae.  Big power, bright lights, amazing stuff.  Other than that, well… that’s what they’ve got Pike for, isn’t it?

But even he knows what it means when Pike looks forlornly down at her holy symbol, which now has a crack running down its length.  He’s never seen her so small, which is weird, ‘cause Pike’s small all the time.

Grog knows it’s troubling when he doesn’t even have the correct words to explain what’s just happened.

 

Pike looks up to see Grog approaching her.  He sits down next to her and holds out a tin pan holding what she’s guessing is her portion of dinner.

She shakes her head.

“Eat it,” Grog says gruffly and pushes it into her hands.

Pike knows from experience that he won’t leave until she at least takes a bite, so she sighs and reaches up for the plate.  Methodically she scoops up whatever it is and shovels it into her mouth.  It tastes like gravel and it makes her want to start crying all over again.

“Got somethin’ for you,” Grog says, and holds up an oddly-shaped item.

Pike chews and swallows before reaching out again.  It’s sticky and black, whatever it is, wrapped around a thread spool.  She picks at one end, revealing something like tacky ribbon.  It leaves a gritty feeling on her fingers.

“’S from Percy,” Grog explains. “He uses it to hold stuff on guns together.  I figured…”

He uses his chin to indicate her cracked holy symbol.

“Oh,” Pike says. “Oh, Grog, no.  That’s… that’s not how that works.”

Grog takes the roll of sticky ribbon back from her and begins pulling off a strand of it. “No, see, you just gotta…”

When he leans forward, reaching for her holy symbol, Pike puts one hand up, the other curling around the broken symbol protectively. “Grog,” she says, a little more firmly. “Thank you, but it’s not necessary.”

“But… ‘s broken.”

“I know,” Pike says softly. “And maybe… maybe so am I.”

Grog tosses the roll of ribbon behind him (it whacks Vax square in the back of the neck; the rogue lets out a pained _“Unh!”_ ) and scoops Pike up from the ground, wrapping his arms around her. “No yer not,” he says fiercely. “Don’t you _ever_ say that.”

Tears roll down Pike’s cheeks. “I did something terrible,” she sobs into Grog’s chest. “I did something awful and she’s… she’s _gone_ , Grog.  She’s never been _gone_ before.”

Grog feels his own eyes start to water and he shakes his head hard to get rid of the tears. “She’ll come back.”

Pike just clings to him.

“She’ll come back.” Grog whispers it like a prayer. “But if she doesn’t…”

Pike tenses.

“… if she doesn’t, you’ve still got me,” he goes on. “And don’t think for one second yer not worth as much in my eyes now as you were yesterday.”

Grog brings one hand up and gently pats her on the head. “She’ll come back.”

 

Sarenrae floods back into Pike’s body the way thirsty plants suck up rainwater after a drought and she goes limp with relief, sweat still pouring from her kneeling form.  She heaves in a deep breath and looks up at the statue on the altar.

In the back of the temple Grog bows his head. “Told you so,” he murmurs, and then turns and leaves Pike to conclude her meditation.

 

* * *

 

vi.

_healing_

A short list of things Pike has healed on Grog:

Cuts, bruises, scrapes, bullet wounds, arrow wounds, spear wounds, trident wounds, crossbow wounds, head injuries, lightning damage, broken bones (arm, leg, rib, elbow, knee, ankle, all ten toes, collarbone), various unspecified internal injuries, “that time that asshole sharpened the edge of his shield and nearly took my hand clean off”, animal bites, a wide variety of all other kinds of bites, one particularly nasty case of frostbite, sixteen burns (three of which were Pike’s fault), claw attacks, dagger strikes, and “that time that asshole bit my earlobe clean off and _don’t_ you go tellin’ that story – it’s not a very good one and no _don’t_ mention how he was wearin’ a dress how’s _that_ s’posed to add to it – dammit, Pike...”

 

Number of scars Pike has from Grog taking care of her wounds:

Zero.

(What?  She taught him well.)

(And he’s really a rather delicate touch with a needle and thread once he gets started.)

 

* * *

 

vii.

_fire_

They’ve been friends for almost six years when a cleric of Sarenrae comes to stay with Wilhand.

Unfortunately, Wilhand has gone on a short trip, leaving Pike and Grog in charge of the household, and the cleric, a young, pompous human man with an appalling attitude and robes of a disgustingly bright blue, is horrified to find a goliath napping beneath an apple tree while a wild-haired gnome hangs upside down from the branches overhead, trying to spit apple seeds towards her companion.

“Oh, hi!” Pike greets him.  Her cheeks are ruddy from being upside down for so long, and wisps of white hair fly free from her braid.

The cleric immediately looks like he’s swallowed something bitter. “I’m Darius Traggle and I’m looking for Wilhand Trickfoot.”

“Oh!  He’s visiting some other relatives,” Pike says. “Should be back any day now, if you’d like to wait.”

“I see.  And _you_ are…?”

“I’m Pike!” The gnome grins and spits another apple seed towards Grog.  It sticks to his forehead, and he wakes up with a spluttery laugh.

Pike swings herself down to the ground.  She approaches the cleric, sticking out her hand.

He takes it and finds it sticky.

“Sorry,” Pike says cheerily. “Anyway, what are you looking to talk to Wilhand about?”

“It’s very private,” Darius responds, looking down on the tiny girl with disdain. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have any…”

“ _Ooohh_ ,” Pike says, leaning in close to peer at the box he’s carrying. “It’s beautiful!”

“ _Don’t_ touch!” Darius snaps, yanking it away from her.  Looking down at her in near-disgust, he swishes his robes. “I’ll just… wait… in the house for Wilhand.”

He stomps off.

“Bit of a prissy tosser,” Grog mutters as Pike climbs back up into the tree. “An’ what d’ ya think’s in that box of his?”

“Obviously something important,” Pike says.  She reaches up and grabs another apple.

“I say we steal it.”

“Grog!”

“Oh, come on,” Grog says, looking up at Pike with a grin. “You wanna know what’s in it, I wanna make this tosspot look terrible…”

Pike takes a bite of her apple.

“C’mon, Pike,” Grog wheedles.  He snags one of her swinging feet in his hand and tickles it mercilessly.

Pike laughs and laughs and laughs, eventually plummeting from the tree branch and into Grog’s arms.  She looks up at him and spits another seed in his direction.

He catches it in his mouth.

 

Wilhand arrives shortly before dinner – Pike’s making grilled fish (Grog caught it) and roasted vegetables – and sits down with the cleric.  Grog vacillates between watching Pike cook and staring longingly at the cleric’s box. “C’mon, Pike… say we can break into it after dinner.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“’Cause you’re amazing…”

Pike rolls her eyes.

“An’ don’t you wanna find out what kinda treasures of Sarenrae he’s got locked up in there?”

Pike sighs. “You’re such a bad influence.”

She turns back to the stove to hide the way her fingers are twitching.  _Of course_ she wants to know what’s in there, especially if there’s any chance it’s an artifact of Sarenrae.  It isn’t likely Pike’s ever going to see one in her lifetime, not out here in the Bramblewood, unless this Darius Traggle’s brought one to her doorstep.

“That’s a yes,” Grog crows with delight, and he manages to scoop a handful of hot vegetables out of the pan.

“ _Grog!”_ Pike swipes at him with a wooden spoon.

As it turns out there are plenty of vegetables to go around, and Darius Traggle seems to like Wilhand’s elderberry wine.  He likes it so much that he gets a bit silly and tries to convince Wilhand to go dancing.

“I am an old man,” Wilhand says. “I have seen much.  I do not think dancing would be the best use of my skills, but I would greatly enjoy going down to the tavern for some cordial.  Perhaps the Widow Tirfiz will be there.”

He turns to Pike and Grog, cheeks slightly pink at the thought of meeting up with his dear lady friend. “Will you two be all right alone for the evening, or would you want to join us?”

“Oh, we’ll be just fine,” Pike says in her sweetest voice. “We’ll do up these dishes and go right to bed.”

Wilhand seems surprised but doesn’t question it. “Well, all right.  Come along, Darius.”

Once they’re out of the house Grog turns to Pike. “Unlock it,” he says.

“I’ll try,” Pike says.

The box, when she touches it, feels warm beneath her fingers.  The lock seems to be the warmest part of the construct; Pike takes a few minutes to deal with the complicated series of levers and knobs so that she won’t burn her fingers.  As each piece clicks into place the heat in the room increases dramatically, until Pike feels sweat running down her forehead.

Once the lock is open she turns to Grog. “Your turn,” she says.

Grog grins.  If he’s feeling the raise in temperature, he’s not showing it. “Right.  If it’s gold, we split it even.”

“Why would we take gold from a cleric?” Pike asks.

“Why _wouldn’t_ we take gold from a cleric?” Grog bends down and grabs the handle on the front of the box.  He pulls up the lid in one swift jerk.

A pulse of red light bursts forth from the box, shoving Pike backwards.  Immediately the room is so hot that she can’t breathe.  Her head cracks against the floor and her vision goes foggy.  Then she remembers Grog – Grog opening the box, looking so confident – and panic grabs her.

“Grog?” she calls, trying to get up. “ _Grog?!”_

The light dies down and the pressure on Pike’s chest decreases slightly.  She sucks in a gasp of cool air and pushes herself upright. “Grog?”

Her friend stands in front of the box, in the same position he was before she fell down, staring into the box.

“Grog?” Pike stands unsteadily and makes her way towards the goliath.

When she comes up beside him she can see that something in his face has changed.  His eyes are red, his expression vacant.

“Grog,” Pike says slowly.

The box is still open, red light spilling out onto the table.  Pike reaches for it, reaching for the lid, to close it, to push away this entire experience.

Grog’s massive hand slams down onto her arm.  It takes her breath away.

“We need to close the box, Grog,” Pike says.  She’s getting dizzy, between the red light covering the entire room and the pressure on her chest and the pain in her arm. “We have to make it go away.”

She’s pinned physically, though, and she’s trapped by the red flares in Grog’s eyes.  Whatever’s in the box, it’s nothing of Sarenrae’s.

 _But you_ _are mine_ , a voice whispers in Pike’s ears, cool as winter runoff, frosty as icicles, as welcoming as lemonade on a boiling summer day.

Pike brings up one hand and waves it in front of Grog’s face. “Grog, listen to me,” she says. “Let’s close the box.”

Nothing changes.

Pike feels the cold pulse of Sarenrae’s divine energy nestled at the base of her spine.  She takes a deep breath and reaches up towards the ceiling with her free hand, calling Sarenrae down towards her.

_Run through me.  Use your purifying light to chase whatever this is from Grog.  Take it away.  Push it out of him._

There’s a brief series of seconds where nothing happens, except the room gets hotter, Grog’s expression gets angrier, and the pressure on Pike’s arm grows stronger.

Then there’s a flare of glowing light followed by a _whoompf_ of power.  Divine energy flares down through Pike’s body.  She has enough prescience to move her arm out towards Grog.

Golden light surrounds him and it seems to suck in all of the red energy in the room.  It blazes brightly; Pike feels it emanating from her entire body before it dies down.

The box slams shut.  Grog jerks back from the table as though thrown by a heavy wind.

Pike feels suddenly exhausted.  She slumps forward onto the table, the cool touch of Sarenrae’s divine presence flooding out of her all at once.

 

“Right, so, a fire monster took over my body,” Grog says as Pike comes back to herself. “It was really scary.”

He looks over at the box. “An’ then you took a drooly-face nap.  An’ I’m guessin’ there was no gold in the box.”

“No gold,” Pike agrees blearily.

“You ready for bed, drooly-face?  You must be tired after what happened.”

Pike looks up at him. “What?  What happened?”

“You fought off the fire monster,” Grog says, like it’s second nature. “Saved me.”

“What?”

“You were all golden and glowing.  It was… it was pretty kickass.” Grog studies her. “Kinda reminded me of the day we first met, huh?”

“You were unconscious the entire first day we met,” Pike replies.  Her head is swimming.

Grog just gives her a patient smile and scoops her up. “I’m putting you to bed, little warrior o’ Sarenrae.”

“Thanks, Grog,” Pike mumbles.

“An’ maybe we _won’t_ tell the cleric we touched his box.”

For some reason Pike finds that hysterical, and she giggles in his arms.

 

As it turns out – once Wilhand and Darius return from the tavern – the box contained a lesser fire demon.  One Darius Traggle’s fellow clerics couldn’t figure out how to destroy.  Upon discovering that the demon escaped, Darius goes pale; upon hearing that a teenage gnome was able to deal with the demon with little more than exhaustion and a bad case of the giggles, Darius goes a shade Grog’s never seen – something that’s not quite purple and not quite red.

“Pike would do anything for me,” the goliath says proudly. “She’s the best friend I ever had.”

“She is a wonder,” Wilhand agrees.

“And you’re saying it’s just…”

“We’re sayin’ the box is empty,” Grog says a little shamefacedly. “We were lookin’ fer treasure.  Well, I was lookin’ fer treasure.  Pike was thinkin’ there was some sort of artifact of Sarenrae in there.”

Darius looks over at Wilhand. “She’s very powerful indeed.”

There’s something in his tone Grog can’t understand.

 

Pike sleeps straight through the next two days, so she isn’t there when Darius Traggle leaves, but when she wakes she finds a small cloth-wrapped parcel next to her pillow.  Her sleep-drunk fingers brush aside the handkerchief and something golden and glimmering spills into her lap.

She gasps in surprise as she plucks up the finest holy symbol she’s ever seen.  The chain is finely-wrought of tiny links, almost mithril in their beauty; the golden wings of Sarenrae’s angelic form sparkle in the afternoon light from the window.

It’s the most beautiful thing Pike has ever held.

 _You earned it_ , a voice breathes into her ears.  _You fought back the fire that could have taken down your home, your village, and everyone you held dear.  You are my champion, little one.  You will shine so brightly._

It’s the most beautiful thing Pike’s ever heard.

 

* * *

 

viii.

_separation_

Forty-seven minutes doesn’t seem like a lifetime.

It’s not much, considering.

It’s the length of time of one of Percy’s “talks” – more like yells – on why no one, especially Grog, should go into his basement laboratory.

It’s how long it takes for Layna to cook breakfast if she’s making pancakes.

It’s twice the amount of time Grog prefers to wrestle with Trinket.  Unless it’s a holiday.  Or he’s really bored.

It’s the length of time it takes to walk from Grayskull Keep to the lake where Grog and Scanlan go skinny-dipping sometimes.

And all of those things never seem to take too long.  (Minus the thing with the breakfast, because sometimes he’s really hungry.)

But forty-seven minutes becomes the longest amount of time Grog’s ever endured when Pike is dead.

 

They aren’t separated very often, and Pike doesn’t even know how to broach the subject with Grog.

_I’m leaving to go on a ship and I don’t know when I’ll be back and it’s because I died and I need you to understand and please don’t make this hard on me…_

She clings to her holy symbol and looks up at the statue of Sarenrae. “Help me find the right words,” she breathes. “Help me explain it to him.  To all of them.  But mostly to him.”

 

As it turns out there’s no explaining it.  Grog covers his face with his massive hand and weeps.

“No.  No, y’ can’t leave.”

“I have to,” Pike says, the words falling flat even as she says them. “I need to go… to prove…”

“Don’t need to prove nothin’,” Grog protests. “Yer here.  Yer safe.  Yer alive.  That’s all y’ need.  Stay with us.”

Pike bows her head and feels tears run down her face.

Grog kneels in front of her. “Don’t go anywhere.  Don’t leave me again.”

“I have to,” Pike whispers. “I’m… I’m a liability.  I’m another death waiting to happen, and if…”

“Don’t _say_ that,” Grog snaps. “Yer not liable t’ do anythin’.”

Pike shakes her head. “I need to be stronger.  I need to figure out what my death means.”

“You can figure that out here,” Grog says. “With me.”

She knows that if she speaks she’ll fall to pieces, and there’s been far too much of that lately.  Instead she just puts her arms around Grog’s neck.

He hesitates, but then embraces her.  Vox Machina watches as the best friends who have never been apart – not like this, not with forty-seven minutes of death and the peril of the high seas about to divide them – try to keep it that way for as long as possible.

 

* * *

 

ix.

_strength_

Pike thinks Grog’s the strongest person she knows.  Physically, of course, since he’s built like a stone fortress with cables of steel running through him.  But also emotionally.  Grog’s been kicked around by life, literally, abandoned by his entire family, beat up by those he called friends, spit out by the goliath herd for having the nerve to say “no” when they wanted him to kill a defenseless elderly gnome.

He rebuilt his sense of self from absolutely nothing, learned to change all of his thought processes about the world, and somehow managed to end up being a fantastic person at the end of it all.  He’s dependable, resourceful, charming, and oddly brilliant.  Pike would never have the ability to do half the things he does, something she tells him every now and then.

He’s seen her at her best.  And, unquestionably, her worst.

And he still loves her anyway.

That’s real strength.

 

Grog thinks Pike’s the strongest person he knows.  She’s not big, or tough, or anything, but she’s… what’s the word?  She just doesn’t quit.  She takes a hit and gets back up.  He’s pretty sure they taught her how to do that at sea.  Folks who go to sea are as tough and sinewy as the old boots Vex wears when she takes Trinket out for a run in the snow.

Also Pike’s got skills most people don’t think of.  All that holy stuff, sure, the bright lights and mystical energy and healing power.  And she’s wicked with a mace.  Rock solid in her armor.  But Grog knows she’s kind.  And smart.  And gentle.  She’s so gentle.  It’s like… well, there’s another word he doesn’t know.  It’s two things trying to be at the same time, when they both can’t be.

Pike’s a lot of things trying to be at the same time.  The only other things Grog knows like that are knots and braids, and they’re tight and strong ‘cause they’re made to be that way.

They hold things together.  Just the way Pike does.

 

* * *

 

x.

_and also, ale_

Grog knows better than to challenge Pike in a drinking contest, but he’s never going to stop anyone else from challenging her, ‘cause that’s just fun to watch.

Some poor sap does it at Winter’s Crest, the first one after Pike returns from the sea, and Pike comes back to him twenty minutes later, twenty-five gold richer, a satisfied smile on her face, and two mugs of ale in her hands.

She indicates the bar stool next to his and Grog is all too pleased to lift her up onto it. “Told that guy he had no business challengin’ a cleric t’ drink.”

“And you were right,” Pike says with a grin. “He bought us a round of ales to celebrate.”

“I like any idiot who buys me ale,” Grog says.

They slam their tankards together and they both take long drinks.  Grog comes up with a foamy mustache and Pike giggles.  Grog licks it off and blows some more of the foam towards Pike.

She rolls her eyes. “Ugh.”

“Y’ like it.”

Pike shrugs and shifts her weight on the bar stool, reaching into her purse to remove a small package. “I got you something.”

“Funny, ‘cause I got _you_ somethin’.”

They exchange their oddly-wrapped gifts there at the bar – Pike’s is a bit larger and a bit better-wrapped – and for a moment they just sit there, basking in the knowledge that, for that moment, they are the most important person in the world to someone else.

Then, of course, Grog gets impatient and rips the paper off his gift, discovering a beautiful leather-wrapped flask. “It’s so _fancy!”_

“It’s the fanciest flask I could find,” Pike says, taking a drink from her ale. “And look on the bottom.”

Grog tips it sideways, seeing a mark on the base. “What is it?”

“It’s a G,” Pike says. “For Grog.”

“Awww,” Grog says. “Still tryin’ t’ teach me stuff.”

“Always,” Pike says.

“Open yers.” Grog says nothing more about the letter on the flask, but Pike sees how his fingers trail over it, like he knows it’s got meaning.

Pike nods and gently removes the paper from her gift.  At first she can’t quite figure out what it’s supposed to be – a plaque?  No, it’s too small…

“’S a symbol,” Grog grunts. “Made it fer ya.”

Pike pulls the tiny wooden circle up from the packet, seeing the day-star motif carved on the front.  It’s strung on rough-hewn leather cord, so completely unlike the symbol she wears now.

And she loves it.

Without hesitation she slips it over her head. “Thank you, Grog.”

Grog just nods and takes another drink of ale.

It dangles right over her heart, and Pike’s pretty sure she’s getting sappy from all the ale, because she feels happy and slightly buzzed and warm.

“Been together a lot of years now,” Grog says.

“Mm-hmm.  You thinking about changing that?”

Grog snorts. “Not likely.  Why would I be tryin’ t’ get rid of the best thing that’s ever happened t’ me?”

Pike flushes and grips her tankard.

Grog looks over at his best friend.  She looks just the same as she always has – tiny, white hair, big smile – and the first thing he ever noticed about her, the golden glimmer that surrounds everything she does, still wreaths her like greenery ‘round a Winter’s Crest candlestick.  He’s suddenly so overcome with emotion that he finds himself raising his tankard. “To whatever comes, Pike.”

“To whatever comes,” Pike replies, and there, in the golden glow, they drink.


	2. Outtakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so flattered by all of the love the first part of this got, so I thought I'd add in a few vignettes that didn't make it into the story itself, either because I couldn't figure out where to put them or because they weren't fully fleshed out.
> 
> Enjoy!

i.

_the time Grog put lipstick on a duck_

“You’re saying that you’ll give us the Brooch,” Vax says flatly.

“Of course, my boy.” The monk nods.

“And all you want us to do is…”

“Bring me a maiden!” the monk hollered. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Your Holiness, I’m not sure if you’re aware…” Percy starts.

“We’ll get you a maiden,” Vex interrupts smoothly.  With a pointed look at the rest of the party, she grabs Percy’s shirt collar and hauls him out of the temple.

They stand in the bright sunlight, the cobblestones warm beneath their feet, pondering this nearly impossible mission they’ve just been handed.

“He wants a maiden,” Percy splutters.

“We heard him,” Grog says.

“How hard could it be to find _one_ girl to kiss an elderly blind guy?” Scanlan asks. “Vex, you want to take one for the team?”

Vex glares at him.

“I think he’s forgetting where he lives,” Percy goes on. “He lives _in a cloistered city_.  The only maidens here are…”

He stops abruptly, looking up at Vex, Keyleth, and Pike.

“No, no, go on,” Keyleth says, an amused smile on her lips.

Percy goes bright red and hurriedly cleans his glasses.

“We need the Brooch,” Vax points out. “Without it, we’ll never be able to vanquish the elder water demon holding the city hostage.”

“He doesn’t care about that,” Scanlan says. “It’s not _his_ city.  All he’s worried about is mackin’ on some sweet lips.”

The rest of the party groans as their bard begins grinding his hips and shaking his booty in Pike’s general direction.

Grog frowns down at Scanlan and without another word scoops Pike up onto his shoulder. “’S a shame we couldn’t get, like, a poppet,” the goliath observes. “Some of ‘em got lips.”

“Not a lot of doll makers in a city of elderly monks,” Pike says, settling with a hefty _clank_ of her armor.

“Well, there’s other things what got lips,” Grog says. “Monkeys got lips.”

“We don’t have any monkeys, Grog,” Pike points out.

“Okay, well, no monkeys an’ no poppets.  But we got…” He turns, casting his gaze out towards the surrounding city.

“Ducks!” Pike cries out.

Grog ducks so quickly that Pike tumbles from his shoulder and hits the ground, tumbling end over end in a series of _clank_ s and _thunk_ s.

“Grog!” Vax barks. “What the hell?”

Pike gasps up at them, “I’m okay!  I figured out where we can get a maiden.”

She winces. “I really should have been more specific.”

Grog peers down at her. “Sorry.”

 

“This is literally the _worst_ idea we’ve ever had,” Vex mutters, watching as Keyleth druid-crafts a series of vines into a snare.

“Not the worst,” Pike says. “The worst was when Scanlan offered to put on a dress and lipstick.”

“So we’re going to put the lipstick on a _duck_ instead?”

“You say this like you’re surprised, Vex’ahlia,” Vax says. “We’re not really known for boring plans.”

“Getting an elderly monk to kiss a duck seems… offensive.”

“Really?” Pike turns to look at the ranger. “Because we were only in the temple for ten minutes and he tried to feel me up twice.”

“Oh!” Vex goes red. “My apologies.”

“Armor’s good for a lot of things,” Pike says practically. “Also Trinket bit him.”

“We could have had the monk kiss _Trinket!”_ Scanlan throws his hands up.

“Not bloody likely,” Vex snarls.

Trinket lets out a sorrowful _rrawwrr._

“The ducks have small beaks,” Keyleth says. “They feel… _kind of_ … like people lips?”

“And he’s like, what, four hundred?  Prob’ly never even kissed a girl ‘fore,” Grog adds. “Maybe he’ll like it.”

“Okay, guys, the trap’s ready,” Keyleth says. “Just… stand over there and look inconspicuous.”

“How are we supposed to know what ducks find inconspicuous?” Percy asks.

 

As it turns out, it’s far too easy to get a duck to walk into Keyleth’s trap.  The problem, of course, becomes what happens to it _after_ it’s in the trap.

“We supposed to put a dress on it?” Grog asks, peering at the duck.

“Not all women wear dresses, Grog,” Pike says.

“Oh, yeah.” He frowns, poking at the duck with one giant finger. “It’s not doin’ anythin’.”

“It’s trapped,” Percy says. “It doesn’t have much room to do anything.”

“I mean, it’s not doin’ anythin’ girly,” Grog says. “We gotta make it girlier.”

Pike turns to Scanlan. “Lipstick?”

“Lipstick.” Scanlan digs into his belt-purse and comes out with a metal cylinder.

Pike just stares at him.

“What?”

“How long has that been in there?” Vex asks.

“Well, let’s see.  When were we at the Shrine of the Unanointed God?”

Vax face-palms.

 

The plan is as such – Pike will sit in Grog’s lap with a loaf of bread in her hands.  When the duck approaches, she will feed it the bread.  Scanlan will then approach and apply the lipstick to the duck.

“He’s _blind!”_ Vex points out for the fiftieth time. “ _How will he know if the duck maiden is wearing lipstick?”_

“’S really more ‘bout the ass-the-ticks,” Grog informs her solemnly.

“Lipstick adds a certain _flair_ to a woman that can’t be seen,” Scanlan puts in.

“I have no idea what they’re talking about,” Pike says. “I just really want to hold the duck.”

Not for the first time that afternoon, Vex throws her hands up and goes off to sit with Trinket.

Of course, the plan doesn’t go anywhere near correctly.  The duck gets close enough to Pike to start eating the bread, but Scanlan’s arrival scares it.  It squawks and launches itself into Pike’s face, biting her nose and cheek.

At that Grog swats the duck out of the air, pins it to the grass, and yells for Scanlan to give him the lipstick.  The bard stumbles with it in his hands but manages to get the little tube into Grog’s fingers.

“Now, hold still,” Grog tells the duck seriously.

It takes five minutes, but eventually the duck has smears of lipstick on its bill and some of the surrounding area.  It’s enough time for Keyleth to perform a quick healing spell on a hysterical Pike, who’s laughing almost too much to hold still.

Their duck thusly attired, Vox Machina tramps back up the hill to the temple and all too soon finds themselves back in the chamber with the blind elderly monk. “You’ve brought me a maiden?”

He sounds surprised.

“Yes, sir,” Vax says. “The fairest of all maidens available to us.”

"Of which there were many," Percy says quickly.

“My word,” the monk says.

“We’ve brought it... I mean, _her_ ,  in hope that you will agree to give us the Brooch,” Vax adds.

“Of course, my boy!  A deal is a deal.” The monk creaks to his feet. “Now, now, let me see.  Where did I put that brooch?”

“Your holiness, wouldn’t you prefer to kiss the maiden first?” Scanlan asks, looking over at the duck, held mute in Grog’s hands.

“Kiss her!  _Ha!”_ the monk wheezes with a dusty chuckle. “Boy, what do you take me for?”

“Um, a monk?” Scanlan offers.

“You mean, you didn’t want a maiden to… marry?” Vex asks delicately.

“No!” Again the monk guffaws. “I’m afraid you’ll find that in my order we are not taken with those of the female persuasion.”

“So you wanted her for…”

“For a blood sacrifice, of course!”

As for the rest of the story, well, what more do you want to know?  They get the Brooch, the monk gets his duck-maiden sacrifice, the city of Fleet River is rescued from the water demon holding it hostage, and sometimes on her loneliest, coldest nights Pike goes to sleep warm with thoughts of how it made her laugh to see Grog try to put lipstick on a duck.

 

* * *

 

ii.

_play_

Grog knows Pike won’t play with other gnome children, but that doesn’t mean she’s bad at games.  ‘Cept that that she is.  She’s taught him all of what he calls “the indoor games,” and even though they’re mostly all boring and have too many fiddly little pieces, he likes playing them with her.

But other than those, Pike is bad at playing.

“No, I’m not,” she says when Grog tries to point this out.

(Perhaps he shouldn’t have opened with “Yer bad at playin’” but it was all he had.)

“You don’t ever do things little bitties are s’posed to,” Grog says.

“Like what?” She crosses her arms.

Grog doesn’t like her “irritated face” so he quickly recalls games he played with his herd. “Hide-n-find.  An’ rough-n-tumble.  An’ catch.   An’ makin’ mud huts outa mud.”

“Mud huts out of mud, hmm?” Pike raises one eyebrow.

“’S not what I meant,” he mutters. “Maybe I'll just teach you some games, ‘kay?”

“We already _play_ games.”

“Right, but not… little bitty games.  All you know’s grown-up games.”

Pike rolls her eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, Grog, I’m _already_ little bitty.  And unless some sort of wizard hops out of the bushes and transforms me into a goliath, I’m always _going_ to be little bitty.”

“Fine.  Yer games are boring,” Grog says frankly.

Pike’s mouth drops open like he’s slapped her.

“You don’t ever wanna get dirty, or shove ‘round, or do anythin’ kids are s’posed t’ do,” Grog says. “Yer _boring_.”

“ _Boring?”_ Pike marches up to Grog. “Did you ever think that before you came along, the only person I had around here to play with was Wilhand?  And perhaps he’s not the best person to get rough with?”

Grog thinks about the elderly gnome.

“And maybe getting dirty’s fun at the right times,” she goes on. “And maybe there’s never been anyone around here to _teach_ me to play?”

She shoves him.

Now it’s Grog’s turn for his mouth to drop open.  Not because the shove was anything serious, since it hit him around his knee and had about as much force as Pike could muster – that is to say, not much.  No, he’s surprised because she actually _shoved_ him.

“Put yer jacket on,” Grog says.

“What?!  No, I’m mad!”

“I know,” he says patiently. “Put yer jacket on, ‘cause we’re goin’ outside so’s I can teach you t’ play.”

“NO!”

Grog sighs and grabs Pike’s tiny little jacket from the hook near the door.  He forces her into it and shoves her out the door. “We’re gonna teach you to play.”

“ _Why?_   I’m _mad!”_

“I know, and it’s downright adorable,” Grog says, trying his hardest not to laugh. “But you bein’ in a shovin’ mood has never happened, so I’ll teach y’ t’ play ‘fore it fades.”

As it turns out, Pike is _very_ good at hide-n-find (she can hide _anywhere_ ‘cause she’s so small), and somewhat good at rough-n-tumble (although Grog thinks she’d be better if he could ever try to tackle her… which he can’t, ‘cause he’d kill her), and she can build mud huts taller than anyone Grog’s ever known.

And years later he’s always astonished how she remembers exactly how to use things he taught her when they’re fighting.

He wonders if Pike trying to tackle him ever looked as funny as it does when Pike tries to tackle a fire imp – clanking armor and the glow of Sarenrae and a mouthful of curses spat at the sky as she takes it down.

He’s pretty sure it’s better.

 

* * *

 

iii.

_forgetting_

“How much longer do you think this guy’s going to last?” Keyleth demands as the rogue spellcaster in the field before them readies another blob of glowing energy.

“He’s got two arrows literally _in_ him and he’s taken four dagger strikes and two war-hammer blasts and at least three bullets,” Vex replies. “So your guess is as good as mine.”

Scanlan begins singing as Pike prepares to call forth a guiding bolt from Sarenrae.  Before the gnome can fully complete the spell, their enemy releases the green orb from his hands.  It strikes Pike in the forehead and drops her where she stands.

Grog lets out a yell and rushes the wizard.  The wizard merely grabs his cape, twists it around himself, and disappears.

When Grog reaches Pike he’s completely unprepared for what he sees in her eyes – fear.

“Pike?” he asks gently, kneeling down next to her.  He puts one hand out to help her up.

She shoves herself back away from him, her entire expression terrified. “No, please, don’t hurt me!”

“’M not gonna hurt you,” Grog says.

“Please, just leave me alone!” she begs.

“’Kay, if that’s what y’ want.” Grog will be the first to admit he doesn’t understand magic.  Maybe this asshole wizard caused Pike to see something bad happening.

Vax and Percy are the next to arrive.  Vax kneels down next to Pike. “Are you all right?”

“She’s upset,” Grog says.

But Pike turns to Vax. “Who is that?” she asks, pointing at Grog.

Vax goes solemn and turns to Grog. “That’s Grog,” he says.

“Is he… our enemy?”

It’s like she’s kicked him in the chest.

“No,” Vax says carefully. “He’s our friend.  He’s your best friend.”

Pike’s still looking at him with fear in her eyes, and he can tell she doesn’t believe Vax.

“Do you remember him?” Percy asks.

Pike shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. “No, I don’t.”

 

Pike kneels in the temple of Sarenrae, her back to the door, looking up at the altar.  Since her encounter with the wizard in the cornfield, she’s been unsettled.  Things are unfamiliar, things she thinks she should remember.

_How do I forget my best friend?_ she asks Sarenrae.  _If that’s who he was._

She presses her fingers to her forehead.  She remembers the keep, this temple, the members of Vox Machina, but of the goliath barbarian she has no memories.  Nothing permanent.  Only a gut feeling of terror and the desire to stay far, _far_ away from him.

There’s no answer from Sarenrae, but Pike’s positive her symbol is warm.  Confused, she looks down at it to find that it’s not her finely-crafted silver-and-gold symbol that’s radiating divine love – instead it’s a small wooden disc that pulses warmth at her.

_Where did I get this?_

Pike twists her fingers around the rough lanyard holding the disc around her neck.  It doesn’t worry her, not as much as maybe it should, but today has been a very strange day.

“Pike?” Scanlan calls from the corridor. “Can you come into the kitchen, please?”

_Keep searching_ , Sarenrae whispers.

Pike sighs and gets to her feet. “Be right there.”

 

She stops short when she sees Grog at the far end of the kitchen. “No,” she says, her voice shaking.

“He’s not going to move,” Vax says gently. “He asked us to put some things together for you, but he knows you don’t want him near you.”

Pike freezes.  She isn’t sure she wants anything the goliath has for her.

“Please,” Grog mumbles. “Please just look.”

Vax holds out his hand, as carefully as if he was coaxing a wounded animal to safety. “I’ll stand with you,” he says.

Pike turns her attention for the first time to the long table taking up much of the kitchen.  It’s covered in various displays crafted of metal, paper, vines, flowers, string, stone, wood, wax, cloth, and magic.

“What is all this?” Pike asks.

“Grog asked each of us to help him make a diorama,” Percy says.

“I did not!” Grog protests. “That’s Scanlan’s thing!”

“Diorama – it’s like a little scene,” Vex informs him.

“Not _diarrhea_ ,” Scanlan fake-whispers.

“Oh.”

“He wanted to show you some memories you don’t have any longer,” Vax says.

Pike steps up to the first one.  A series of metal figures stand around another metal figure, laid out prone on the table.  At the far side of the scene is a final metal figure, this one much smaller and surrounded by some sort of golden glow.

“I made this one,” Percy says as she reaches out to touch it. “Keyleth enchanted it.”

“It’s the day we first met,” Grog says.  Pike’s fingers brush the smallest figurine. “’Cept I don’t really remember it, ‘cause I was unconscious.  But you… you took me away from my herd and healed me so’s I’d get better.”

Pike releases the figure.  It’s cold and metal beneath her fingers, and she doesn’t like it.

“This is when you were real sick,” Grog goes on as Pike moves to the next scene. “I dunked ya in a wash basin so’s your fever would go down.”

Pike furrows her brow at the little cloth gnome in the teacup.  It feels like something’s pushing at her brain.

“An’ the next one’s us rescuin’ a little gnome boy who went missin’,” Grog says. “We found him in a cave an’ I carried him back t’ town an’ you healed his scrapes.”

Pike frowns.  There’s something she remembers about this, something she can’t quite put her finger on. “And I asked you…”

She shakes her head, hard, suddenly overcome with rage. “I can’t remember!” she sobs. “I want to remember and I _can’t!”_

“Y’ asked me if I was ever sad ‘cause nobody was out lookin’ fer me,” Grog says softly.

Pike pushes her hands against her forehead. “He doesn’t want me to remember,” she cries. “ _I want to remember!”_

“An’ this one – this one,” Grog goes on, his voice gaining momentum, “this is when y’ tried t’ teach me t’ read!  An’ this one’s when we went swimmin’ in that big lake and I near t’ drowned and y’ were liable t’ kill me once y’ made sure I wasn’t dead!  An’ this one -”

The kitchen seems like it’s spinning around Pike and the rest of Vox Machina is silent as she takes a wobbly, woozy step towards the last diorama at the end of the table.

“This is when…” Pike chokes on the memory, on everything that’s stuck in her brain, on the wizard’s mind lock that’s keeping her from the full person she knows she’s supposed to be.

She looks over at Grog, and he’s hunched in towards her, tears in his eyes.  He says, “This is when y’…”

The dizziness in her head starts to ring like a thousand gongs and she wants to vomit.  She puts a hand up to stop him. “It’s when I died,” Pike manages to get out, and for the second time that day, she collapses.

 

When she gets her eyes open again she’s cradled in Grog’s arms.  Immediately she reaches up and throws her arms around his neck.

“Wha’?” he grunts, obviously half-asleep himself.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

“Fer what?”

“For forgetting you.”

“’S far as I’m concerned, y’ didn’t have much of a say in the matter,” Grog answers.

“But forgetting you… it felt like forgetting… like forgetting a part of _me_ ,” Pike murmurs, her arms still locked around his neck.

He brings one giant hand up and pats her on the back. “Well, then I’m the biggest, stupidest part of ya.”

“Should be impossible to forget,” Pike says.

“Now y’ get a chance t’ try an’ be impossible again.”

“That didn’t make any sense.”

“Sometimes I don’t haveta make sense.  Keeps the ladies guessin’.”

Around Pike’s neck the little wooden disc hums, bright with Sarenrae’s energy, and as she leans back against Grog’s chest she hears exactly what it’s saying – _You’re home.  This is home.  Remember what home’s like, and you’ll never be lost again._

_He's home, _ she answers, and her heart sings.


	3. A Request, A Head-Canon, & A Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's three different vignettes:  
> i.) I had a request from a reader to see more about how Pike talked to Grog about leaving to go to sea. The vignette's title is from the sea shanty "Randy Dandy Oh."  
> ii.) I have a head-canon that there are some consequences from Craven Edge's banishment.  
> iii.) I saw this in a dream and had to write it. I have no other explanation for it.

i.)  _get cracking, me lads - it' s a hell of a way_

Grog thinks he’s going crazy.  To be fair, it’s been a weird week.  Four days ago Pike died and came back to life.  And now he keeps seeing her out of the corner of his eye – little flashes of white hair or the sound of her footsteps in the corridor or a sudden golden sparkle just somewhere outside his visual range, just close enough to make him _think_ it’s there.  Which wouldn’t be so weird, except for the fact that when he’s catching these glimpses of Pike, he knows she’s somewhere else.

On top of that there’s the voices in the keep, the ones he’s been hearing late at night when he’s in the kitchen getting a midnight snack.  Two of them, soft yet firm.   They stop whenever he gets close enough, and he’s never been able to hear what they’re saying.

It’s enough to make a goliath want to rage.

Instead he decides to ask his friends for help.  He can’t be the only one going crazy.

He finds most of his friends out in the back courtyard with Trinket.  Keyleth is up in a tree talking to a bird or something, Vax standing underneath like he’s courting the bird instead of Keyleth.  Vex and Percy have their heads on Trinket; Percy has his hands in the air, describing something in the clouds.  Vex keeps shaking her head _no no no_ , but she’s laughing.  Trinket seems to be snoozing, and Grog envies the bear.  Scanlan’s providing musical accompaniment for the afternoon’s activities, playing a lilting tune on his _shawm_.  Tiberius looks critical of the entire endeavor.

 Grog stands awkwardly in front of Trinket for a few minutes before he flops down on the grass. “I think I’m goin’ crazy,” he says to Vex.

She stops laughing and turns to look at him. “What?”

“I’ve been… seein’ things,” Grog says hesitantly. “An’ hearin’ things.”

Vex gets Percy’s attention, and the other man sits up, too.  Something in Vex’s expression catches Vax’s eye, and the rogue grabs Keyleth out of the tree.  In a few brief seconds they’re all gathered around Grog.

Somehow he manages to get out the facts.  The things he’s been seeing.  The voices he’s been hearing late at night in the keep.

When he finishes Vex leans forward and puts her hand on his knee. “Do you think this is about Pike?  You’re still worried about Pike?”

“Of course I’m still worried about Pike,” Grog answers. “But it doesn’t make much sense t’ me, thinkin’ I’m seein’ her when I’m _not_ seein’ her.”

“It could be you’re trying to imagine her when she’s not there to help you remember she’s still alive,” Vax says.

“But I _know_ she’s still alive.  An’ that don’t explain the voices.”

Scanlan leans in. “Grog, think of it this way.  Pike is the most important thing in your life, right?”

“’Course.”

“She means a lot to you.  She’s one of your favorite people.”

“Yeah.”

“And the fact that she died… that she left you… that she left _us_ …” Scanlan hesitates, obviously reluctant to yet again think of the traumatic events of Pike’s death and subsequent resurrection.

“Sometimes things like that make your brain play tricks on you,” Keyleth says gently, giving Scanlan’s hand a squeeze.

“So my brain’s tellin’ me Pike’s still alive?” Grog furrows his brow. “’Cept I _know_ that.”

He rubs his forehead. “Wish she hadn’t died.”

“We all wish that, Grog,” Vex says.

“Wish she felt better ‘bout gettin’ back t’ life,” Grog goes on sorrowfully. “She’s been spendin’ all her time talkin t’ Sarenrae.  What’s Sarenrae got t’ say that _we_ can’t tell her?”

It’s the kind of question that doesn’t need an answer, and none of Vox Machina tries to give Grog one.  He doesn’t really _want_ an answer.  He wants lots of answers, to lots of different questions, mostly ones he can’t find the words to ask, but not that specific one.

“Sarenrae’s the one who brought her back, Grog,” Keyleth says.

Grog looks up, eyes flashing with anger. “No, she’s not!  _We_ brought Pike back!  Me, an’ Scanlan, an’ the twins, an’ you, an’ all of us!  It wasn’t some _god_ up in nowhere’s land – it was _us!_ ”

His fists clench in rage. “ _We’re_ the ones she’s s’posed t’ be talkin’ to!  Why isn’t she… why isn’t she…?”

His breath catches in his chest and, not for the first time in recent days, Grog finds himself close to tears.

Then he feels two arms wrap around his leg and he looks down to see, there directly in front of him, not just in flashes in his imagination, his best buddy Pike.  Her little white head bobs a little as she squeezes him tightly.

Grog feels the tension slide out of his body, and he doesn’t feel crazy anymore.  Just tired.  And sad. “Hi, Pike.”

“Oh, Grog,” Pike murmurs.  She hugs him for a few moments longer and then tilts her head back, looking up at him.  Her eyes are filled with tears.

Grog leans down and picks her up.  She throws her arms around his neck. “You’re not crazy,” she says into his ear.

“You heard all that, huh?”

“Small ears, but yes, fairly good hearing.”

“An’ you know I’m not goin’ crazy?”

“I do.” She squeezes him tightly and then lets go. “I have something to tell you, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  But not here.”

 

Pike takes Grog to the Wench’s Elbow, a tavern that despite its name is clean and well-respected, and buys him an ale.  She also buys their newest culinary endeavor, a giant onion that’s been hacked nearly to pieces, dipped in batter, and fried.  It’s strangely delicious, and Grog’s pretty sure he could eat four of them by himself, one after the other like they’re pieces of candy.  Since Pike’s there – and she’s paying – he restrains himself.

Once they’ve been fed and watered, Pike leans forward. “I’m going away, Grog.”

Some of the afternoon’s earlier rage yanks itself back up into his shoulders. “No, yer not.  Don’t talk like that.  Yer not goin’ anywhere.  Did Sarenrae tell y’ that?  ‘Cause she’s wrong.”

“Grog.” Pike tilts her head and gives him a serious look. “Sarenrae’s never _wrong_.”

“She ain’t said anythin’ t’ me.”

“Are you sure you’re listening?” Pike retorts.  She sighs, not rising to the challenge of a verbal sparring match with him. “Anyway, Sarenrae didn’t tell me to leave.  Well, she sort of did.  It’s all… it’s all complicated.”

Grog takes a long drink from his tankard.

Pike shakes her head as though trying to clear her thoughts. “I just… dying changed everything, Grog.”

Her voice is low and he hears tears in her voice.

He puts down the tankard and looks at her seriously.  She looks… smaller, somehow.  Shoulders slumped.  Dark circles beneath her eyes.  This isn’t his buddy Pike, at least, not the way he wants to think about her. “I know,” Grog says softly.

“Jolting back into my body… it _hurt_.  Coming back made me realize how vulnerable I am.  How _soft_ and _weak_ I am.”

“Yer not weak!” Grog says fiercely, and he means it.  Pike Trickfoot is one of the strongest people he knows, and he once fought a mountain dwarf who ate a gold piece just because he _could_.

“But I’m not like you.”

“Nobody’s like me.  An’ fer good reason – we’ve already got one of me.” Grog senses he’s not on the right track. “At least tell me where yer goin’.”

Pike raises her eyes to meet his, and again he’s struck by how tired she seems. “I’m going to sea.”

“To see who?”

“To sea.”

“I know, but to see _who?”_

“To _the_ sea.”

That finally gets through. “Like, on a boat?  On th’ ocean?”

Pike nods.

“Can y’ even swim?”

Again she nods. “You know that.  We used to swim in the reservoir in Westruun, remember?  Well, I swam.  You… flopped around and tried to drown yourself.”

“But you taught me.”

“Eventually.”

Memories hit Grog like one of Vax’s daggers to the sternum. “I used t’ like swimmin’ ‘round under everybody else ‘n grabbin’ their toes.”

“And you only got hit five or six times,” Pike agrees. “Well, and once the Shalbmar twins tried to drown you.”

“They didn’t succeed, huh?”

She smiles, but for some reason she looks like she’s going to cry. “No.  They sure didn’t.”

“Yer goin’ away.  To a boat.”

Pike nods. “I’ve been setting things up these last few days.”

“T’ do _what?”_

“Learn to fight.  To wear armor.  To… strengthen myself.  To be somewhere else and challenge myself.  So maybe when I come back to Vox Machina I won’t be the weakest one.”

“Hell, yer not the weakest one!” Grog protests.  He feels like he’s losing control of the world around him, but not in the same way a rage causes him to drop away from everything.  It’s more that everything he thought he knew is being pulled out from under him, causing him to stumble and veer wildly into territory he’s not comfortable with.  He’s losing the things he thought he could depend on, and that makes him angry and sad at the same time.  It’s too much to think about. “Y’ seen Percy, yeah?”

“Oh, Grog,” Pike whispers, and at that she does start crying. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you apologize,” Grog says fiercely.  He scoops her up from her chair and holds her against him. “’S all right.  If y’ think y’ need t’ go…”

“I don’t _know_!” Pike wails into his chest. “I just know I can’t… I can’t stay here.  I can’t stay here and remember it all.  Over and over again.  It’s all I see when I close my eyes – the light, the pain, the… _nothing_.  Then coming back and… it’s all _there_ , Grog.”

“Shh, shh,” Grog says helplessly, patting her back. “Just… cry, if that’s what y’ need.”

She sobs for a good long series of minutes, and Grog thinks he’s truly going crazy now.  This isn’t his Pike.  His Pike is strong and sunny and Sarenrae’s own.

 _Wish Sarenrae’d come down and do her own comfortin’_ , Grog thinks none too charitably.

 

He carries Pike home from the tavern and takes her up to her bedroom.  He doesn’t spend a lot of time there, but as he goes around lighting the lanterns Pike just keeps staring at him, and Grog finally realizes she doesn’t want him to leave.  He sits down against the wall under the window, since her bed’s built for a gnome, and she curls up in his lap.  It’s nothing they haven’t done thousands of times over the length of their friendship, but this time it feels different.  More permanent.  More like an ending.

At some point he realizes she’s gone to sleep, that he’s lost his chance to say anything more to her.

Grog looks down at Pike’s face, still drawn and tense even in sleep, and then looks up at the statue of Sarenrae in the corner. “Um, so, we don’t talk,” he says somewhat awkwardly. “But… y’ brought Pike back, an’ that’s real generous of ya.  She’s… she’s the very best thing I have, ‘cept fer my flamin’ war-hammer, which is pretty amazin’, but… uh… yeah.

“I know… and _you_ know… that she’s gonna follow ya t’ the ends of th’ world if that’s what y’ ask her t’ do.  But maybe some time when yer tellin’ her all these things, remember she belongs here.  With me.  Okay?

“An’ I understand she’s goin’ off t’ sea.  Can’t stop her.  Never been able t’ stop Pike doin’ anythin’, ‘cept the one time I nearly had to sit on her t’ keep her from tryin’ t’ burn a guy’s house down.  It’s a long story.  An’ I’m sure y’ know all about it.  Is that… how gods work?  D’ ya just _know_ everything?  I got some explainin’ t’ do if that’s true.

“Anyway, just… bring her back t’ me.  Bring back _my_ Pike, ‘kay?  Sunny Pike who knows everythin’ an’ never makes me feel like an idiot just ‘cause I don’t know somethin’.  Keep her safe, I guess, if that’s somethin’ y’ _can_ do.  She deserves t’ be safe.”

He catches a glimmer of gold around the statue’s head, feels Pike shift in his arms, and hears a soft voice: “I am safe.”

Before he can stare aghast at the statue, he hears the voice again.  It’s clearly Pike’s; a little sleep-drunk, to be true, but hers nonetheless. “I _am_ safe, Grog.  I’m with you.”

 

* * *

 

 

ii.)  _nightmares_

 _You took him from me.  You took him!  All he was doing was feeding me!  You think you can stop me, foolish cleric!_ The sword spits the last word as though it has a foul taste. _You can’t stop me.  No one can stop me.  And to prove it_ …

Pain sears through her abdomen and she cries out.

_Oh, your sweet, sweet blood.  It’s been many a year since I’ve tasted a cleric’s blood.  You think you’re so –_

If it says something else, Pike doesn’t hear it.  She’s writhing in her armor, desperate to escape the wave of pain cresting over her body.  Her next breath sings with agony and she coughs.  Blood pours over her lips and she chokes.  She tries to raise up on her arms, tries to crawl to safety, to heal herself somewhere far away from Craven Edge’s lies and empty promises, but she can’t move.

 _Please_ , she hears herself sob.

_You weren’t so weak and sniveling earlier when you cut your friend off from me.  I had his life, you stole it back, now I’m taking yours.  Seems fair to me.  I’ll drink you dry and then I think I’ll be satisfied with this deal._

_Please_ , Pike sobs.  Her armor presses down like stones dragging her underwater.  She reaches out, desperate for someone to rescue her.

 _Please!_ she screams.

“Pike!”

_Please!  I’m sorry!_

“Pike, wake up!”

 

She jolts back into her body, staring up at Grog and Vex, who peer down at her worriedly.  Immediately she bolts upright and throws her arms around Grog’s neck, ignoring the stabbing pain in her abdomen. “Grog,” she sobs. “Grog.”

“’S okay,” Grog says.

“It was a nightmare, darling,” Vex adds softly.

“You’re not… you’re not… _possessed_ anymore?” Pike demands of Grog.

“Naw.  Y’ saw to it I wasn’t,” Grog replies.

Pike sighs in relief. “He told me…”

“He was only sayin’ lies,” Grog reminds her.

“Yeah.  Yeah, he was.”

When at last she’s breathing easier, she settles back into her bedroll.  Grog stands back up, ready to resume his watch shift, but he hesitates. “Pike?”

“Hm?”

“If… y’ see him again…”

“Yeah?”

“Just remind him… anybody messes with Pike Trickfoot an’ they haveta deal with me.”

“He dealt with you,” Pike tells him. “We saw how well that went.”

“Right.  An’ then he dealt with _you_ , an’ he’s dead an’ gone, so that should tell him who’s stronger,” Grog answers easily, and he smiles at her.

She doesn’t see Craven Edge in her dream again, only hints of him in the blood red shadows, but every time she thinks she’ll be pulled back down by her memories of a sword that threatened to tear her world apart, she just thinks of Grog and his goofy smile, and somehow that manages to set everything right.

 

* * *

 

 

iii.)  _a modern AU_

He’s seen her every morning for the past five months, sitting cross-legged against the railing of the subway station, cardboard sign – **Pregnant.  Homeless.  Anything Helps.  Sarenrae Bless You.** – in front of her.  He has to walk past her to get to his office.  And she’s hard to avoid seeing – white hair, clear green eyes, and an expression that’s more broken than Grog’s ever seen before.

And he’s a private eye, so he’s seen some of the worst.

As a rule, he doesn’t give money to homeless people.  He gave five dollars to a guy once, a guy who swore up and down he “just wanted a bite to eat” and saw that guy go into a bar not two minutes later.  Offered to buy that same homeless guy lunch the next week and was told “no, no, I just need the money.”

He always gives money to her.

He’s not quite sure why.

But when he comes aboveground on a rainy Monday morning, she’s the first thing he notices.

Because she’s not there.

 

“Hey, Gilmore, you seen the homeless girl from the corner?” Grog asks.  Rain drips down his slicker, pooling on the plush carpet of Gilmore’s store.

Gilmore himself appears from behind the counter, two heavy books in his arms. “Not since yesterday.  Why?”

“She’s gone,” Grog answers.

“Shari?” Gilmore calls. “Have you seen Pike today?”

 _Pike_.  He’s seen her there, every day for the past five months, talked to her a couple times a week, watched her belly swell, baked her cookies, talked to her about the baby, for God’s sake.  How had he avoided learning her name?  He knew every other detail of her like he was going to be tested on it, and it occurs to him now he’d never even considered that she _had_ a name.  She was his, lodged in his mind; she didn’t need a name.

“Not today,” Gilmore’s shop assistant calls out.

The bell over the door rings and Grog whirls around, praying it’ll be her.  _Pike_.

Instead it’s the officers Syngorn, twin siblings who walk a beat in the neighborhood.  Dressed in identical police-issue raincoats, they also sport matching serious expressions.  The male twin – _Vax’ildan_ – steps forward. “Morning, Gilmore, Shari.  Mr. Strongjaw.”

Grog gives him a nod.

“What can we do for you, officers?” Gilmore asks, handing the books to Shari.

“Received an anonymous tip that the Chroma gang is back in action,” Vax replies. “A few members were seen causing trouble in the abandoned warehouse behind Two Sombreros.”

“Seen anything like that?” his twin, Vex’ahlia, pipes up.

“No,” Gilmore says. “But it’s been raining all morning.”

“Mr. Strongjaw?” Vax asks, turning his inquisitive gaze on the private eye.

“No,” Grog answers. “But I’ll keep my eyes open.”

He’s feeling distinctly unsettled now.  The Chroma gang’s known for being vicious and cruel; if they’re back in action no one is safe.

 

Scanlan, his business partner and definitely the brains of the operation, agrees.  He can’t stop talking about the Chroma gang – the latest sightings, what they’re going to have to do to protect themselves, how their neighborhood could probably just burn itself down and save the Chroma the trouble.

Grog barely catches most of it.  From their second-story office windows he can see the corner where the homeless girl – _Pike_ – always sits.  He’s been watching all morning, but she hasn’t appeared.

At noon he tells Scanlan he’s going out for a walk and declines offers of company.  It’s as dark as midnight, a thunderstorm still pounding against the brownstone buildings and dirty sidewalks.  Grog’s restless, as though too many thoughts are nagging at the back of his brain.

He walks the blocks surrounding the office in a daze, barely realizing he’s outside the warehouse behind Two Sombreros until he hears a scream.  That snaps him out of it and he darts forward, headlong into trouble as usual, realizing belatedly he’s unarmed and probably outnumbered.  He reaches for his cell phone, thinking that irritating twin cops are better than no cops, only to discover he’s forgotten that too.

The warehouse is dank and dark; the rain pounds against the boards over the windows as Grog slips through a partially-opened door.  He hears the scream again, followed by sobs and terrified breathing.  Grog looks around for a potential weapon; grabbing a short board from the ground, he moves forward.

“Oh, _God_ ,” a strangled voice cries.

Grog knows that voice.  That’s _her_.

He dashes around the corner and comes face to face with the homeless girl – _his_ homeless girl – _Pike_.  She looks more terrified than any human being has a right to, crouching awkwardly, her swollen abdomen cradled in her hands. “God,” she gets out, and another scream escapes her mouth.

Grog approaches her cautiously. “Pike?”

She looks up. “Grog?”

He nods. “I’m here to help,” he says, sounding like some sort of cookie-cutter comic book private detective.  Like he needs a fucking cape or something.

What he needs is a miracle.  Or something.

Pike reaches out for him and he takes her hand.  She grips it so tightly he thinks he sees stars. “Jesus!” he bites.

“I’m sorry,” Pike gasps. “I just…”

She moans.  Grog sees the cement floor below her suddenly darken, a wet stain spreading out from beneath her.  She looks up at him and goes red.

“It’s okay,” Grog says, his voice steady.  He’s pretty sure nothing in his training or life experiences ever prepared him for _this_ , but somehow they prepared him to lie like a champion. “Let’s get you to a hospital.”

Pike shakes her head. “No!  He’s… he’s looking for me.”

She moans, bearing down on his hand again.

“Okay, okay,” Grog says. “Do you think you can walk?”

She looks up at him, breathing heavily, and tries to straighten up.  Her entire body seizes with pain and she cries out.

“Okay.  Easy does it,” Grog coaches her. “Just a few steps.  Gilmore’s store’s right around the corner.  He’ll have a phone.”

Pike clutches his hand as they move towards the warehouse door.  She screams.

“It’s okay.  You scream as much as you want,” Grog tells her.  His heart is pounding and he can hear blood rushing in his temples.

“I’m sorry,” Pike wheezes at him.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Grog replies, lying through his teeth.  He’s fucking terrified.

Pike pants and gasps and screams.  At last she stops, body heaving with each breath.

“Almost there,” Grog says.  He can see the street mere feet away.

“I can’t,” Pike whimpers. “I can’t.  The baby’s… coming…”

Grog reconsiders his plan.  Then he forces himself to take a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “I know we don’t know each other real well, but I want you to trust me, okay?”

“I trust you,” Pike gasps out.

“Good.” Grog scoops her into his arms and starts running.

 

The bell over the door to Gilmore’s has never sounded so appealing as it does when Grog bursts in carrying a laboring woman in his arms. “Gilmore!” he yells. “I need help!”

“Grog,” Pike whimpers as her body tenses in another contraction.

“It’s okay.  You’re safe,” Grog tells her, laying her down on one of Gilmore’s fancy reading couches. “Gilmore?!  Shari?!”

He moves over to the counter, intending to grab the phone kept there.

It’s gone.

“Gilmore?  Got a woman in trouble out here!” Grog calls.

As his voice dies away he realizes the shop is silent except for Pike’s panting.

“Something’s wrong,” he murmurs.

The cold barrel of a gun presses into his neck.  Almost instinctively Grog feels his hands raise into the air.

“Grog?” Pike gasps. “What is it?”

“It’s okay, Pike,” Grog answers, his voice calm. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

He doesn’t get the chance to say much more before something heavy slams into his head and the world goes dark around him.

 

Grog wakes to the smug face of Officer Vax’ildan Syngorn over him. “Put that away,” Grog demands blearily.

He’s referring to the officer’s face, but Vax seems to think he means his penlight, which he’d flashed in Grog’s eyes. “I will,” the cop replies. “You’re going to feel a little woozy and sore, so be careful if you sit up.”

Grog puts one hand to his head and tries to remember what bar he’d enjoyed such a great time at.  Then the events of the previous hours come flooding back to him and he jerks upright, nearly passing out from the pain that rockets through his body. “Pike!” he barks at the officer. “Where’s Pike?”

“She’s fine,” Vax answers.

“It’s actually quite an amusing story,” his twin sister opines, leaning over the counter to see Grog on the floor. “See, you were knocked out by a Chroma.  And when you dropped to the floor unconscious, somehow a tiny woman nine months pregnant and _in labor_ got up and beat the shit out of that Chroma.”

“Good for her,” Grog mutters.  He rubs his forehead.

“Gilmore and Shari helped,” Vax puts in. “They were hiding in the back room.  Your entrance gave them the diversion they’d been waiting for.”

“Always glad to be of assistance.” Grog braces himself against the counter and gets to his feet woozily. “Take me to her.”

Vex takes him to the little apartment over the store where Shari lives.  Pike is asleep in Shari’s bedroom, a tiny infant swaddled up next to her.  Gilmore’s keeping watch over the two of them; Shari stands at the window with binoculars.

Grog carefully approaches Gilmore.  The shop owner turns. “Welcome back,” he says softly.

“Uh, yeah.  Thanks.”

“I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but you’re the hero here, Mr. Strongjaw,” Gilmore says. “If you hadn’t come in… we probably never would have gotten up the courage to attack.”

He looks over at Pike with an expression of fondness.  Grog completely understands. “So, she’s… okay?” he asks a bit stupidly.

Gilmore nods. “About five minutes after we’d tied up that Chroma and locked him in the broom closet, she delivered a beautiful baby girl.”

“Oh,” Grog murmurs.  He takes a few hesitant steps towards the bed.

“Would you like to sit with them?” Gilmore asks.

Grog finds himself nodding.

“Very good,” Gilmore says, and vacates his seat.

 

Grog isn’t sure how long he sits in the armchair near the bed, but it’s long enough that the shadows lengthen and the night steals over the building.  Shari, Gilmore, and the officers Syngorn come in and out; they have quiet conversations but eventually leave him alone.  At last Pike opens her eyes and sees him, blinking in the low light of the lamp on Shari’s dresser. “Grog?” she asks sleepily.

“I’m here,” he answers.  The baby’s in his arms, snuggled up against his chest, sleeping contentedly.

“I’m so sorry about what happened today,” Pike says.

Grog looks up in surprise. “Sorry?”

“I mean, you got attacked.  And I’m sure it wasn’t on your to-do list to help some homeless fuckup give birth.”

“I’ve been attacked before,” Grog says. “And I spend a lot of time with some unsavory people, and you are the furthest thing from a fuckup I’ve met recently.”

Tears glisten in her eyes. “That’s not true.”

In his arms the baby begins to fuss. “Hey now, none of that,” Grog says gently, running his finger down her downy cheek. “Your mama’s here, and she’ll get you sorted out.”

He stands and carries the baby over to Pike.

She reaches up and takes the baby, already cooing at it as she brings it close to feed it.

“Pike,” Grog says.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been talking to Gilmore and the cops, and my business partner Scanlan, and… we have an offer for you.”

At the mention of cops he sees fear flash across Pike’s face. “Hey, no, it’s nothing bad.  We just think you could probably use a more… permanent place to stay.”

Grog can’t figure out what Pike’s thinking, so he just continues. “There’s a little apartment attached to the office Scanlan and I share.  We usually rent it out, but it’s been vacant for a bit.  We’d like you two to live there.  And Gilmore’s got a job for you.  Shari’s taking more classes towards her law degree, and she won’t be able to work quite as much, so there’s plenty of hours here.”

Pike freezes. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you do that for me?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“You don’t even _know_ me.”

Grog thinks back to the morning, when he’d been so sure of her place in his world that he hadn’t needed a name to express his feelings for her. “No, not in the way we should,” he allows. “But if today’s any indication, knowing you is clearly a rollercoaster ride.”

At that she smiles, shifting the baby to her shoulder. “You might get attacked again.”

“I think I should, every few months or so.  Reminds me I’m not the biggest, baddest thing going.” Grog stands, ready to give mother and daughter some alone time.  At the door he stops. “Pike?”

“Yeah?”

“Whoever you’re hiding from… he’ll never find you.  Scanlan and I will make sure of that.”

“Because you’re the biggest, baddest things going?”

“Well, I am.  Scanlan’s knee-high to a grasshopper and wears bright purple almost constantly,” Grog replies. “But there’s worse people to have protecting you.”

Pike smiles at him. “Thank you for today, Grog.”

“You’re welcome, Pike.”

As he closes the door behind him, he turns her name over in his head.  Until today he hadn’t known hers, but she’d known his, known enough about him to trust him with her life.

 _I hope I’m worth that trust_ , Grog muses as he sits down at Shari’s kitchen table.

It’s still raining outside, and the Chroma are back on the streets, dangerous and unpredictable as ever, but inside the little apartment it’s warm, and Grog has a purpose.

And maybe a concussion.

But mostly a purpose.

It feels – mostly – pretty good.


End file.
